Stumble Upon It
by Aldercy
Summary: Short WIP. The Marauders want only to make their Last Year their Best, but Remus is afflicted with a touch of infatuation and when Sirius concedes he discovers something unexpected. RLSB.
1. Spectator Sport

__

A.N. I'm making a conscious effort in writing this to keep the boys in character; I think it's really an awfully lot harder than people think and there's a lot of conventions that have developed independent of the canon which are widely accepted as the tenet. Anyway, I'd appreciate comments on whether or not you think it's realistic. And also whether or not you think it's funny. Because trying to make it sound like you're not trying never works, does it? This story does come with an ample supply of faintly gratuitous steaminess, but there's more going on, a bigger picture.

All rights, excluding plot, reserved to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic Press.

Rated M for sexual references and content, language, and some potential violence. Contains slash.

****

Part 1 . Spectator Sport

"_Ahr-ee-em-you-es-jay-oh-aytch-en-ehl-you-pee-aye-en. Nine-five-four-three-one-one-six-eight-five-three-three-seven-nine-five. Equals sixty-nine reduced to seventeen reduced to eight. Five-three-six-three-nine. Twenty-six down to eight again. Nine-four-one-one-eight-five-three-seven-five. Forty-three. Seven._" The calculations spilled rapidly from under his breath, subconscious and flushed feverish by a barely curtailed academic enthusiasm. His whispers were obscured by the violent scraping of his quill and by the smart lashing the rain was giving the casement.

"I do swoon so when you speak Gobbledygook."

Finding himself ignored, Sirius Black threw himself down before the hearth and cracked open a paperback Muggle novel he'd encountered abandoned under a table across the common room. Remus was faintly distracted by his arrival, but said not a word and pressed on with his numerology estimations. Maybe two minutes elapsed before Sirius tossed the book-- the opening paragraphs of which he had evidently found less-than-riveting-- sharply at Remus' leg. At this, he finally relinquished his hold on the quill and turned to his friend.

"What do you want? And what d'you mean throwing stuff at me? I know it's hard, but you could at least try to control your explosive nature," he said, his tone sounding somewhat short of truly irritated.

Sirius neglected to comment on this, but merely rolled over onto his back, stretching, and speaking to the ceiling. "What are you working on? The holiday's just started; you've a thousand sodding years to do homework." He seemed vaguely petulant.

"Arithmancy. Not, incidentally, that you'd ever have any respect for anything I work on anyway." Remus had taken up the habit of adding loosely biting comments to the end of every exchange with Sirius and had, in turn, become accustomed to Sirius completely overlooking them. He wondered why he went on wasting the energy.

"Come again? You don't even _take_ Arithmancy."

"No, but Annice was telling me about it and it sounded interesting, so I've just been referencing the basics." He indicated the old beginners' textbook that he'd borrowed from her.

"Annice Bishop? She's a fine thing, neh? Since when do you _consort_ with the likes of her?"

"It's not _consorting_. We're in the same study group."

Nevertheless, Sirius gave him a feral grin. "Anyway, let's hear it, mate. What _enthralling_ knowledge did you just pull out of all those numbers? We're all going to be set upon by disgruntled Fairies and Chizpurfles next Wednesday?"

Remus made a derisive noise. "It's not Divination, for God's sake. This exercise is supposed to tell you about the character of the person whose name you use it on. I just did my own. For example, when it comes to social things, says here that I'm 'perceptive, understanding, bright, serious, scholarly, and interested in all things mysterious, but can also be pessimistic, sarcastic and insecure'."

Sirius' looked mildly bored and waved his hand dismissively. "Well, I don't need charts and maths to see that you're swotty and insecure, Moony," he yawned. "Sounds like a subject for people who don't know who they are. I'll pass."

"What's your middle name?"

"Sorry?"

"Your middle name, twat."

"Phineas," he replied, catching on.

"_Es-aye-ahr-aye_..." A minute of relative quiet passed while Remus drew up the sums. "There," he pronounced, arriving at final answers.

Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"Overall, you are 'strongly determined and work tirelessly as an inspiration to others; however, you can also be _arrogant and conceited when things don't go your way'._ On the inside, you are 'independent and single-minded, a leader and an inventor who doesn't like to take orders and can be _self-centered, egotistical and domineering_'. With others, you are 'loyal and adaptable, but sometimes prone to _complacency_--'"

"That's enough, you! You inform me I'm full of myself often enough; I don't need that asinine book to tell me, too. That is, of course, assuming you're not making the whole lot up." But when Remus glanced over at him, he was smiling, amused.

Remus closed the book for the time being and joined his fellow Marauder on the floor. His eyes shifted to the gilt grandfather clock in an alcove. 10:52. It was still early by Christmas holiday standards.

"Want a game of chess or something?" he ventured.

Sirius shook his head and proceeded to extract an extremely fragile looking spun-glass Astronomy vector globe from an inside pocket. He tossed it up into the air and caught it deftly over and over again. The sight made Remus recall James' similar Golden Snitch routine.

The Gryffindor common room was devoid of any other students that night. There were, of course, a few others who were keeping on at Hogwarts this December, but Remus supposed the younger ones were already going to bed and he'd seen a furtive pair of blushing Fifth Years slinking out the portrait hole about an hour ago, presumably for a private night stroll. (He probably should have told them off for violating their curfew, but hadn't really had the heart-- Sirius, James and Peter teased him mercilessly whenever he allowed his prefect's sensibility to interfere with theirs or anyone's business and, so, he'd gotten the reputation of being highly lenient from the student body. The silver badge's conspicuously wasted authority on his robes made him feel possibly more ineffectual than if he'd not had it at all). He and Sirius, for all intents and purposes, had the place to themselves. James and Peter had both gone home to their families; it was Remus' custom to do the same but his parents were calling on cousins in Oslo and Remus, as he had made this trip to Norway last Christmas and had not particularly enjoyed it, had opted to pass. Sirius, of course, was-- by self-proclamation-- without a family. He might have spent the time in his London flat or with the Potters but had, surprisingly, chosen to remain at the school. Remus wondered if it had been a decision borne out of a wish to keep him company; the concept brought about a tingle in his fingers before he subdued it.

But it was a challenge, once those little tremors of affection burgeoned in his chest, to again quell them. His official tactic, for the preceding two years, had been one of prevention: don't think about Sirius in inordinately amorous ways to begin with and you won't have a problem. Of course, it was impractical. Being honest with himself, Remus knew that he had had very few mental restraints when it came to the tall, attractive boy. Thankfully, all his outward restraints had thus far remained intact and he didn't think his friend was at all aware of the long-lived crush.

º

It hadn't come about under any astonishing circumstances. Remus had dated a girl a year younger than himself, Paige Dearborn, from the end of Fourth Year until the middle of Fifth Year, had casually gone on walks with or bought Three Broomsticks butterbeers for one or two others, and had lost his virginity last year to a Seventh Year Ravenclaw by the name of Rosamunde in a searing yet ephemeral affair that had, to his embarrassment, surprised and entertained everyone who knew about it. He enjoyed and appreciated female companionship and-- though he'd never been in love-- was genuinely attracted to women. But, since just after he and Paige had split up and enduring all through subsequent flings, Remus had found himself undeniably drawn to his friend who was so different from him yet so intriguing.

In the beginning, he occasionally noticed and cherished certain subtleties about Sirius-- his sayings, his audacity, the way his hair fell over his eyes-- and silently compromised with his hormones that it wasn't uncommon to question slightly before settling down straight again and it couldn't be denied by even the staunchest heterosexual that Sirius Black possessed good looks. When his emotions did not subside, he again rationalized that curiosity was only natural and even accepted that he might have legitimate homosexual tendencies, allowing himself fleeting looks through curtains of shower steam. And, now, in their last year at Hogwarts, it was more pronounced than ever. Fantasizing full-scale during classes and going to bed every night filled with an intense, guilty craving for the boy sleeping only a few feet away in the next four-poster, Remus was resigned to his certain bisexuality. He didn't even delude himself with the idea that it was Sirius Alone for whom he could feel thus-- that was a little too idealistic-- but it was mostly him.

He'd observed all those careful months, endeavoring to perceive even the slightest hint that Sirius could harbor buried feelings, but saw nothing. Or rather, he saw a lot only none of it was to his personal liking.

Sirius, for the past three years, had gone through (what seemed like three Houses' worth of) girls like water. The greatest majority of them were very pretty, many of them were funny, some of them were smart, a few of them were notably athletic, and none of them-- obviously-- were Remus... or even Remus-like. At least, he consoled himself, he needn't be deeply concerned that his friend would fall hopelessly in love and then be a complete lost cause: he never spent enough time charming one individual girl to allow for it.

º

"I want to _do_ something tonight."

"What?" Remus started at the sound of Sirius' voice in the dusty silence. The other was up on his feet and striding about purposefully in demonstration of his knack for abruptly shifting demeanors.

"I said I want to do something fun tonight. Not just sit around."

"Oh. I've never known you to ever want to just sit around."

"I want to fly."

Now Remus shifted more upright and swiveled to stare. "_Fly_? Not broomsticks, you psychopath. It's after hours. And dark. And raining. And, you know, _December_."

"Yes. _Fly_. Don't you ever just feel like leaping out a window?"

"Er..."

"I do. And whether Mr. Prefect will admit it or not, I bet he does, too." Sirius' eyes smirked. "An exceptionally uninspiring lesson and an exceptionally lovely day? Don't deny your radical side, Moony-- all work and no play makes Lupin a dull boy," he quipped.

"Well, that's all well and good, but this isn't History of Magic and it's pretty far from lovely out there," he replied. Remus-- with absolutely no intention of leaving the fireside that evening-- regarded the raging heavens outside, and sniffed. "And, remember, McGonagall said if you get any more detentions this year, you might not graduate."

"Don't be tedious."

"Don't be _stupid_."

"Broaden your horizons, mate! So what it's not sunny? Half the glory in flying is experiencing its extremes. _That_--" he gesticulated wildly at a window, "-- out there is utterly _silly_ weather to take a broom out in, which is exactly why it will probably be brilliant." His expression was transcendent.

º

"This is completely fucking insane and we're going to die," Remus complained, his voice monotone. He dragged one of the school's scuffed, desiccated, and virtually antique Swiftsticks behind him while Sirius walked ahead down the corridor, his Comet 320 resting jauntily over his shoulder. He'd made a fairly decent Chaser on the House Team in Fourth Year, but his foray into the Quidditch world had lasted only the one season before he'd managed to earn himself a ban from Dumbledore himself after hexing Slytherin players one too many times, finally sending their Captain, Gallagher Wilkes, to the Hospital Wing with seventeen broken bones and a complexion fuchsia with an allergic reaction to _air_.

"Probably, yeah. But we'll die terrifically. 'Live fast, play hard, die laughing,' I always say," Sirius declared briskly and unconcernedly. He slowed his pace to clap Remus warmly on the back and referred to the Marauders' Map. "Nothing even close to this wing of the castle."

"I don't know why I let you persuade me to do things like this." He knew precisely why.

They were making their way down a black and nearly silent 6th Floor corridor. Remus had crept about Hogwarts in the night often enough to not spook at the school's standard nocturnal noises-- suits of armour creakily adjusting their stances and the like. Nevertheless, he still wished Sirius would let him have a good look at the map; it had been a long time since he personally had been caught red-handed going astray from any serious school rules. As they bypassed the Library and turned, reaching the castle's northernmost branch, they were greeted with the building's largest and most grandiose window looming at the end of the hall and flanked by limestone pillars. Here the passageway was vaulted and the window-- which was comprised in large part by a great arch of primarily blue stained-glass and by six clear-glass panes (about the height of a man and with the capacity to be opened) at the bottom-- extended from the floor to the shadowy and ambiguously defined ceiling.

"When you throw yourself out a window, you don't muck around, do you?" Remus muttered, annoyed that this location was not very well-secluded but silently fond of Sirius' dramatic side.

"Right you are." Sirius strode forward, inspecting the map one last time before nodding and tucking it along with his wand into his back pocket. "Ready?"

"Yeah, s'pose so--" Remus began before his words were stolen from him by the brutal gust of wind and wintry spray that knocked into him as Sirius flipped up a series of latches on one of the bottom windows, allowing it to be thrown inward by the force of the gale. He ducked his head against the chill and clutched his woolen cloak tight around himself; Sirius, on the other hand, let out a boyish howl of delight (which was, thankfully, mostly lost in the sound of the storm), whipping his broomstick off his shoulder and stepping precariously out onto the ledge. He looked momentarily over his shoulder at Remus, flashing a fierce smile, and abruptly dropped out of sight.

Remus darted to the edge, peering determinedly out into the night, bruised purple with clouds and blurred into confusion by sheets of pelting rain and sleet. He hazarded a look downward and was greeted by the walls' pure perpendicular plummet-- it made him a little dizzy as he could not make out the ground, but he did spot Sirius, who was pulling out of his daring dive, soaring wildly.

"_Impervius_," he whispered to his cloak and robes, knowing it wouldn't do a thing to guard against the cold, and settling himself astride the old broom while hoping desperately that it could cope with the weather as he pushed off the sill.

It felt like being kicked in the chest, the onslaught of the squall. Remus found himself breathless, ascending into the night and, as he pulled himself through the initial shock, he experienced for a few moments the glory that Sirius had predicted. The overwhelming air current parted for him, clipping past and closely surrounding him, relieving him of physical sensation as it went. He was deaf as the atmosphere's ceaseless screaming reached a white noise threshold and blind as the darkness cosseted him. It was as though he'd been stripped of his body and had it replaced by sky, the surrounding oblivion seeping into him and scattering all mundane thoughts.

For that short time it was fantastic until Remus sensed something wheel past him, too close. He was shaken out of his abstraction in time to see what had to be Sirius darting past and, with a return to reality, so returned his awareness of danger and a horrible consciousness that his hands did not have a very firm grasp on the wet broom handle. For a second, he slipped sideways before righting himself. He circled about a few times but was unable to banish the nervousness; his trance stolen from him, he descended some and flew toward the Hogwarts ramparts like a child who plunges exultantly into deep water before remembering he can't swim and returns to hug the pool perimeter.

He alighted on a parapet near the window from which they'd come, discovering a wide protruding stonework shelf and settling down, holding his broom in one hand and reassuring himself by gripping the forearm of a nearby gargoyle-- which turned its crumbling granite head to blink at him before returning to its previous pose.

Now he was tremendously aware of his freezing surroundings, his hair sopping and his face and fingers raw and a little numb. He burrowed into his cloak, wondering how long its charm would endure-- he had, after all, bewitched it quickly and distractedly. His attention was, at least, diverted somewhat by Sirius whom he could now, unburdened with troubles of keeping himself alive, observe much better. He was spiraling high, many yards out and above where Remus sat, slipping seemingly effortlessly through the downpour. He watched the hazy Sirius-shape for what seemed like a long time as he dipped down low to brush the crests of wiry pine trees, dashed around towers, and raced raindrops, allowing the Comet to fall almost vertically. Remus smiled shakily, his insides fluttering as he realized that having an excuse to watch Sirius in ecstasy was very nearly better than experiencing it firsthand; a little of his fear was warmed away.

º

He let Sirius enjoy himself for as long as he could bear the cold and then struggled to dig out his wand with his anaesthetized fingers. He considered firing sparks toward his friend, but feared it might startle him and cause him to fall. "_Flagrantia_," he said instead, carving "COME BACK"-- large and backwards-- into the air before him in flaming orange letters. The message hovered for about twenty seconds before it began to fizzle out, but by then Sirius had spotted it and was flying toward him.

He hovered next to Remus' perch as he himself rose and mounted the broom for the short flight back to true safety. But-- something he hadn't before noticed. With a small blossom of alarm in the depths of his stomach, Remus perceived that the window was closed. The two boys landed on the rather narrow sill, perplexed, while Sirius unfolded the Marauders' Map and Remus attempted to peer into the gloom of the hallway.

"_Shit_--" Sirius managed before Remus grabbed the parchment, shielding it from the rain and the tearing wind, to see for himself. A speck by the name of Argus Filch was only a few paces around the corner, moving toward a hidden staircase. He must have just walked by on patrol. Remus could only be glad that he'd called Sirius over when he had or the caretaker surely would have looked out, suspicious of the unfastened window, to witness his ariel antics. Just then, accentuated by another curse from Sirius, he saw that Filch had turned and was doubling back-- he must have heard them. Sirius, whether from surprise or slippery conditions, at this time dropped his broomstick. Remus stared at him in exasperation and horror. The Swiftstick would never support their combined weight. They couldn't fly away.

In a split second, Sirius had seized hold Remus' broom along with his upper arm and drawn him roughly and quickly to the side, edging hastily down the length of the ridge and into a modest recess in the battlements next to the window, Remus in anxious tow.

Abruptly, Remus' right foot met with a slick spot and he felt himself skate over it, losing his balance and pitching outward. He was airborne as both feet lost their place on the stone and all the empty space of seven stories yawned below him. Absolute panic clenched around his mind and reflexes before Sirius' hand shot out, snatching his robes and wrenching him back. He backed firmly into the small niche and pulled Remus with him, throwing one arm across his shoulders and coiling the other strongly about his midriff, effectively but very narrowly guarding them from view in the shallow depression. If Filch really craned his neck or went so far as to open a window and lean out, he'd spot them.

Sirius (perhaps to make sure they were well-concealed or perhaps unsettled by Remus' close call with death) was, either way, holding him very securely. Remus' back was pressed against his chest and Sirius' arms did not relent in their tight embrace. Even through the haze of fear, Remus was exceedingly aware of this. He could feel the other boy's warm breath, heavy and fast, on the back of his neck and could see the steam float past in the cold. He closed his eyes, shivering for a dozen reasons.

At a slight sound from the window, Remus jolted back instinctively and, as a result of this, felt Sirius' lips brush briefly against his skin. A happy accident. They waited for many long and somewhat awkward moments, convincing themselves that there was no doubt Filch had finally moved on. Remus spent the time committing the details of this phenomenon of intimacy to memory.

It was with reluctance that he made his exceedingly wary way back to the window when Sirius at last relaxed his hold. Charming the casement open with ease, the boys lurched into the comparative heat of the castle, dripping profusely while Sirius hissed over the loss of his broomstick. He flatly refused to leave it and spent what felt like long seconds to Remus pointing his wand down at the night-swathed grounds until he hit upon the Comet's general area and it was Summoned to him.

º

"Bollocks. Tail-twigs all bent..." murmured Sirius distractedly as he fussed delicately over the racing broom.

"Oh, shut up about it already," said Remus in paranoid undertones as he skulked down a constricted and lesser-known passage backwards, Vanishing their noticeable trail of water. "You _could_ help me."

"Right," he responded noncommittally, swabbing away a few footprints absentmindedly before carrying on with his broom survey. Remus found himself distinctly annoyed with his friend's preoccupation when something so potentially disastrous had occurred mere minutes ago. He had come to accept that Sirius would always be less fretful when it came to matters of capture, reprimand and punishment at the hands of Filch or professors, but was he even going to acknowledge the other thing that had happened?

The Fat Lady met them with an arch but jaded expression. "_Cinquefoil_," he told her, clambering, relieved, into the common room. The two of them retired immediately upstairs and Remus went to the slightly chilly, starkly white bathroom, stripping his clothes clean off to stand for sixty seconds under the scalding shower. Pink, he dried off and toweled his hair particularly aggressively before digging about in his bathroom locker-drawer for boxers and pajama pants. Donning these, he returned to the dormitory, pensive and decidedly tired.

To his mild wonder, he happened upon Sirius in a condition that struck him as peculiar at once. He was sitting, unnaturally straight-backed, on the edge of his bed, still fully-dressed and wet. His dark head was bowed, his face a little vacant, and his fingers plucked inattentively at the same broken willow straw on his broom, which lay across his lap. _How _could_ he still be fawning over the bloody broom when it might have Remus snapped and ruined_?

With that thought, an insight struck him along with a twinge of guilt.

"Sirius?"

"Yeah."

"Just wanted to say thanks." Remus' voice was small.

"For what? You didn't have any fun." Sirius here raised his face and took a stab at a smile that Remus might have imagined quavering almost imperceptibly.

"Heh. You know, for-- er-- pulling me back." Remus went about nightly routine, turning down his bedspread and pinching out a candle or two as though the conversation were of cavalier weight.

"Oh, right. Think nothing of it, mate," he said evenly.

When Sirius returned to silence, Remus drew the red hangings closed around his bed and lay alert until he in time heard his friend also prepare for sleep. They spoke no more of any of the evening's incidents.

A.N. That ends Part 1. As I've figured things now, I think it'll probably amount to three or four total and I believe I can promise that the M-for-sexual-content rating will be justified in Part 2. Also, if anyone cares, I didn't make up the Arithmancy calculations-- those are actual results based on a very simple system I found in a Harry Potter guide book. Of course, I don't believe in these things, but I thought that the information was accurate enough for "Remus John Lupin" and "Sirius Phineas Black" to be interesting. And now you are consumed with an overwhelming desire to review.


	2. Weakness

_A.N.__ It's been a little while in coming, but here you have Part 2. I'm aware that I write a lot about every-day actions as well as conversation (I spent a lot of time on Remus and Sirius' dialogue at the end) in this chapter before getting to its point, but I think it's good stuff. I guess I just want to really first establish the way the boys interact with each other as friends and with the rest of Hogwarts-- the people as well as the building. Thanks to those of you who reviewed Part 1, especially _numb-induced_ for saying that it convinced her that this is the best pairing after all. If that's true, w00t. Hope you all enjoy. _

_ All rights, excluding plot, reserved to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic Press. _

_ Rated M for sexual references and content, language, and some potential violence. Contains slash._

**Part 2 . Weakness**

"Just taking your sweet time, aren't you? And on _a day like this_," shouted Sirius from down the hall.

Remus, half-dressed, attempted for a third time to rub the sleep from his morning-murky eyes and examined himself briefly in the finished bronze bathroom mirror. He raked his palm over the thin, fair fuzz on his cheek and decided that time spent shaving was more in order than acting on Sirius' entreaties to hurry.

"What d'you mean, '_a day like this'_?" he called after some time. "What's today?"

Sirius' form materialized in the doorway and scoffed, "Christmas! Well, Christmas Eve. Actually, Christmas Eve's Eve." He trailed off happily.

Remus let his eyes find the ceiling in mock annoyance as he rinsed off his razor. Oh. Right. 23rd December, a day worthy-- like all others in the manic mind of Sirius Black-- of rushing about in a frenzy of energy. "How about leaving me alone for three seconds of the day, okay? I'll be there soon." Hearing his own voice ricocheting lightly around the mausoleum-like bathroom and deeming it a little severe, he added a smile before shooing his friend away.

He buttoned his shirt and turned up the too-long cuffs a time or two, furrowing his pallid brow. Did he _like_ Sirius' dynamism? Envy it? Was he bothered by it? He couldn't have given an answer with anything like confidence, he knew-- recently, the more seriously he began to take his attraction toward Sirius, the more frequently he posed these earnest questions to himself, the more he doubted his ability to actually handle and keep pace with a relationship with him.

But-- and here he glowered abstractedly at the sink-- it hardly bleeding mattered; Sirius, in all their years since puberty, hadn't shown an ounce of interest.

Unless one counted the way he had held Remus on the castle ledge three nights earlier and Remus, for one, did not. To be sure, he'd gleaned his fair share of phantom satisfaction and pleasure from remembering the contact, but his pragmatic side asserted the fact that, realistically, it meant very little on a romantic scale. He and Sirius were good friends and who wouldn't feel defensive and protective toward a friend they'd just snatched away from nearly certain death? It had been an instinctual reaction to cling to him and that was the end of the story, Remus felt. He'd been touched by Sirius' supposed distress after the incident, but neither of them had even mentioned the thing for seventy-two hours and Sirius had seemed to bounce back completely since then.

"I am starving to death, Moony, and you don't even care."

Remus flinched. "Coming right now." He hastily tied his left trainer and joined Sirius who, at his arrival, vaulted himself dangerously down the stairs three-at-a-time. "You could have gone on without me, idiot, if you're so impatient."

º

There was a paltry eight people in the Great Hall when they entered for a late breakfast, only one of them a professor (Albus Dumbledore, at that), and they were all seated together at the head of what was usually the Hufflepuff table. This had been the usual arrangement given that there were only thirty-some total people living in the colossal school for the time-being and it would have been exceptionally impractical to ask the elves below to prepare food for all the five vast tables.

Remus settled next to a dark young girl with big eyes who tried to smile at him with trepidation before averting her eyes to her nearly empty plate. He remembered how seventh years had seemed to him at eleven or twelve: daunting and very tall. It made him laugh inside to think that he might wield anything like that power over Hogwarts' current children; Remus, unlike many older Slytherin students and a notable few Gryffindors (James and Sirius indisputably among them), could hardly be considered _scary_. Well. With the exception of his "furry little problem." He hated how that whimsical euphemism had stuck and privately cursed James for its invention. Here he was resorting to its use in _his own inner monologue_.

"That's right, sweetheart, be smart, be afraid," he thought silently and cynically. "Everyone's afraid of the big, bad wolf." With an innate knowledge of exactly how severely he would break, shatter, eviscerate and shred any eleven-year-old girl who had the misfortune to be within the same range this one now was during a full moon, Remus' appetite deserted him briefly and he paused midway through transferring toast from a platter to his plate.

"Ah, Messrs. Black and Lupin. Grand of you to join us."

Remus turned in time to see the Headmaster grin warmly at them before he immersed himself in some avid conversation with the gruff looking Slytherin next to him. Directly and inversely proportionate to the old man's level of enthusiasm, she grew progressively more surly and her nods and noises of scarcely polite concurrence became more terse as Dumbledore chatted about, apparently, Puddlemere United's unprecedented and regrettable losing streak. "It's that Keeper of theirs, What's-His-Face Blodgett, who's dragging them down; Puddlemere never had a problem with defense before this season--" His soliloquizing was interspersed, however, with the occasional comment on socks or arcane theories of myomancy (which, if the Slytherin girl had been listening nearly as closely as Remus was, she would have noticed it was all utter tripe and that Dumbledore was curbing back a wry smile even as he spouted off ludicrous fallacies of his own capricious invention, testing to see if she was paying any attention whatsoever).

"-- and _that's_ why if one sights a _brown_ mouse pilfering grain stores before the new moon, it foretells of a flood and if one observes a _white_ mouse reading a newspaper, it prophesies that a member of one's family is in danger of contracting dragon pox. But-- and this, I warn you, is the most sinister case of all-- if one spots a _mauve_ mouse dancing a polka with a bowtrunkle, one may infer that the world is coming to an end. Enchanting subject, divining the habits of mice, don't you think? Miss Gulley?"

Remus, effectively roused from his bout of brooding, could not stifle his quiet fit of laughter. The old wizard turned toward them then, his eyes crinkling behind his glinting spectacles. He took a final bite of poached egg. "And how are you boys this lovely holiday?"

"Just fine, sir," Remus answered, still restraining a snort.

"I hope you'll manage to keep yourselves out of trouble for once. Especially you, Sirius Black. But, naturally, I'm _sure_ you will. I'm all for granting seventy-fourth chances, myself." Sirius smirked unabashedly. "For instance, our dear Mr. Filch accosted me just the other day saying he thought someone had been larking about the roofs of Hogwarts!"

A bit of bacon lodged jarringly in Remus' throat, but Sirius revealed no signs of alarm.

"And I-- of course-- assured him that it was a preposterous idea and that no one, least of all _you two_, would be foolish enough to do such a thing." Dumbledore took a deep swallow of grapefruit juice as though the matter was settled. Nevertheless, as he returned the glass to the table, Remus felt sure he caught sight of a knowing wink from the Headmaster.

"Heavens no, professor," Sirius replied with a roguish smile and Remus was momentarily scandalized by his boldness.

"You know, _had_ anyone been harebrained enough to take such a venture, though, I feel it would be my duty as head of this school to ask them never to do it again and give them the minor task of scouring out the Owlery. Our feathered friends would surely appreciate it," Dumbledore suddenly, gripped by an afterthought, continued. He chuckled.

"A fitting punishment, sir," nodded Sirius, acting for all the world like the entire exchange was hypothetical. Remus felt a great rush of amusement and affection for both the Headmaster and his friend (affection, granted, of somewhat different sorts), but was not particularly looking forward to scrubbing the Owlery later.

º

Remus raked a stiff wire brush over a wooden perch, scraping dried bird droppings from it; he roused slumbering barn and tawny and eagle owls out of his way as he worked.

"Not the _most_ disgusting sentence, this. Better than just about anything in the dungeons," Sirius said, surveying the flagstone floor's squalor.

"Speak for yourself. At least dirty cauldrons don't bite you," Remus replied as a large and proud-looking grey owl snapped irately at his hand.

"Yeah, but there's _air_ up here. Feels like prison down there, y'know? I'll take shit and cheek from owls any day over that." Sirius prodded a fluffed and sedate bird who quickly jolted to attention and glared at him with yellow eyes-- Sirius quailed mockingly. "_Evanesco_!" he commanded the floor and a scanty swath of dirt and crushed rodent bones disappeared.

It was cold and mildly foul work, but they continued with it, free of supervision. Professor Dumbledore hadn't demanded they do it, hadn't even mentioned it after his vague suggestion at breakfast, but Sirius and Remus felt that it was firmly implied they see to the job and neither of them even mentioned skiving. The Marauders respected the Headmaster and his eccentric tactics where they might otherwise jeer at or be resentful of other teachers' regulations, their power trips. Dumbledore didn't _act_ like an authority figure, so there seemed to be no use in rebelling against him.

"_Scourgify_," said Remus as he finished with the owls' perches and turned his wand to the last remnants of detritus on the floor. A film of lilac bubbles bled out across the Owlery and Sirius fought to avoid falling as they crept under his feet.

Laughing and steadying himself against the wall, he sluiced away the suds and bits of grime with a hasty "_Aguamenti_."

"That's that," pronounced Sirius, giving his own horned owl a genial pat before springing down the steps. He'd given the fierce and decidedly Spartan bird the unfortunate and inappropriate name of Valentine when his parents-- who were still then on speaking terms with their eldest son-- had given her to him in February of their first year. Sirius was a fan of irony.

"Oi, Padfoot, wait for me!" Remus called after him, dashing down the spiral staircase as well.

When he reached the bottom and appraised the seventh floor corridor, he detected no visible sign of Sirius but heard the receding pound of sprinting feet heading back toward Gryffindor Tower. Oh, James and Sirius had been playing this juvenile game since second year-- racing headlong at chance moments and without warning from wherever they were in the castle to the dormitory, first one to jump and touch the lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling wins. This term, James was lording six whole victories over Sirius (out of fuck-knows how many total races run over the years). They rarely tried to include Peter or Remus mostly because they refused to participate and always lost by miles anyway.

Remus sniggered and ran.

º

Rounding a corner and skidding, Remus caught a flash of black robes whipping out of sight as Sirius turned down the home-stretch-- to his surprise, he seemed to be actually gaining on him. He ran all the faster and arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait just as she slammed closed in Sirius' wake; Remus gasped the password and gave chase through the maze of squashy common room chairs, vaulting inelegantly over one to tear up to the boys' quarters on Sirius' heels.

And just as Sirius leapt, arm outstretched, toward the iron lamp, Remus bolted through the dormitory door and dived at him, ensnaring him round the knees and sending them both staggering to the floor.

Shouts of raucous laughter ensued as the two of them wrestled, barely avoiding the obstacles around them-- trunks and various belongings. The grapple did not last long in light of the fact that Sirius was significantly stronger and soon his knee found Remus' chest and shoved him hard to his back. Remus panted, defeated, and winced at a stitch that had formed some time ago in his side.

In a second, Sirius had removed his knee from his friend's chest and settled astride him, his hands pressing Remus' shoulders into the rug.

"I win," he asserted, looking down at him with an amused and triumphant expression.

Remus' breathing was labored and he sensed his cheeks flushing. He could only hope Sirius presumed both to be a result of the physical exertion. "Tell him to move and laugh it off," Remus thought frenetically. But he couldn't get the words out.

Even as his mind stalled, rendered immobile with an understanding of their present position, Remus saw the spirited look melt from Sirius' face and knew something in his manner must have betrayed his nervousness. Remus expected him to clamber away, disconcerted, and maybe apologize brusquely before leaving in embarrassment, but he didn't. Sirius looked at him for some moments, his features completely indecipherable, and then leaned forward.

And kissed Remus carefully.

When he didn't scream or heave him off, Sirius deepened the kiss and moved one tense hand from Remus' shoulder to his temple where he pushed his fingers uncertainly into his hair. Remus was stupefied and somewhere in his hindbrain he was elated. It was not a short kiss and it might have been very good if Remus had been collected enough to really kiss back.

Sirius stopped and retreated a few inches to hover above Remus.

"Why did you do that?" was all Remus could say after a moment.

A tarnish of dismayed doubt crossed over Sirius' face and he quickly moved a few feet away. Remus sat up.

"Because--" he said hoarsely and paused. "I thought you wanted me to."

"Oh." Was that the only reason Sirius had done it? If he hadn't done it for himself as well then it was only an awkward gift (a fleeting, unmentionable one without a future) and, Remus thought, that would be more heartrending than if it hadn't happened at all. He was desperate for this episode to not be one of alienation. He needed to say more, but he didn't know what it would be. "_Just _because you thought I wanted it?" he stammered.

"Well. I don't really know." Sirius' voice diminished and he looked away toward nothing in particular.

"I mean, okay, I did," Remus confessed. "But--"

"So you _are_ gay."

"What? Er... kind of." He stared at his lap, feeling nauseous at the way this exchange was progressing. Tiny beads of sweat were condensing on the back of his neck. "So. Only to test and see if I'm gay?" he said in a perilous whisper, almost more to himself than Sirius.

Sirius, catching the hint of resentfulness in his tone, spun around, looking concerned. "I didn't intend..."

"It's fine. Yeah, I'm bisexual, there you go." Remus bit off the words sharply. He stood and moved away toward his own bed, his utter disappointment and-- yes-- anger increasing horribly with each step. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was upset with himself or Sirius. He hadn't planned to continue but suddenly was exhausted with a lifetime of inhibiting himself.

"Why do you have to prey on everyone's weaknesses, Sirius?" he asked, his voice rising. Sirius met this accusation with a blank stare, but Remus persisted. He realized that, subconsciously and underneath the cloud of lust and fascination, he'd thought this about his friend for a long time. He felt demeaned.

"You and James. Sometimes not _everything_ is a goddamn game. People aren't things you figure out and play with and conquer. Thanks, but I don't need to be teased. I don't need to be an afternoon diversion of yours. I already provide you with enough _entertainment_ every full moon anyway." He didn't shout, but he set his expression like steel-- he would never forgive himself if he suffered some wretched breakdown right in front of Sirius.

Sirius rose from the floor and approached him cautiously but without the marks of his earlier air of uncharacteristic passive consternation. He looked almost curious and said nothing to defend himself against Remus' verbal assault. "Maybe he knows it's true," thought Remus bitterly.

"That's what you think of it as? A weakness?"

Caught off-guard by this question, Remus only gaped at him.

"Because, if so, that's a pretty rough thing to say about yourself."

Remus recovered and took a deep breath to respond. "Alright, maybe 'weak' is a bad way to say it, but it's just _another_ social stigma to deal with, right? And I don't know what that has to do--"

"Remus," Sirius interrupted with an inflected note of resolution. "Moony, mate, you're not a victim here, okay? Why do you have to be so defensive all the time? Can't you ever just take shit as it happens and go with it?"

Some of his antagonism dissipated and Remus felt the acidic distress in his chest and throat begin to ebb, but there was still in him a tremor of... defensiveness. Realizing this, he let it slide.

"Besides," Sirius added. "If you want to lower your self-esteem and say being bisexual or gay is weak that's your business, but I won't have you insulting me with talk like that." And here the corner of Sirius' mouth twitched and threatened to become a smile; he crossed his arms in what might have been a parody of offended self-respect.

Remus felt his mind and muscles go slack. "What? Are you saying...?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

"_Oh_."

He'd been wrong, Remus realized. Sirius wasn't playing with him, wasn't mocking him... far from it. Remus experienced a rare moment of being both wrong and happy simultaneously.

º

"Oh," he repeated lamely, and tried not to look directly at Sirius. When he inevitably did, however, he knew this was an opportunity on which he was supposed to be acting. Making eye contact, he was distinctly aware that Sirius' hadn't just _capriciously_ granted him with that privileged information. Spontaneously, Remus reached up to him who was marginally taller and drew his head down toward him, brushing their lips briefly together before pulling him into a hard kiss. And Sirius, in a move that sent adrenaline and warmth coursing through Remus, responded accordingly by biting mischievously at his lower lip and enfolding him in a steadfast embrace. Their two tongues snared and Remus felt Confunded, _electrocuted_ by this episode that, mere days and hours ago, he'd been sure he'd never experience.

"I'm going to wake up at any minute," Remus thought distractedly and knew it wasn't true as he, with a tremulous hold on the other's shoulders, set to kissing Sirius' collarbone; he grazed his teeth delicately along it and was rewarded with a bottomless, powerful sigh from Sirius. Remus' heart swelled and he adored Sirius for that sound, craving a situation in which he might have incentive to do it again.

Remus was very hot, he realized in a detached sort of way-- as though he knew it, but didn't feel it. He scuffled with some laces and at the clasp at his throat and then dragged his robes over his head, discarding them. Sirius shortly followed suit. With one less material layer separating them, their bodies touched in interesting fashions.

Suddenly Remus, on an instinctual and dizzying impulse, dropped to his knees. At Sirius' acute pant he looked questioningly up at him, one hand poised at the other boy's belt. "You've got to be kidding," he huffed good-naturedly, even as his eyes widened a little, looking poignantly vulnerable. Remus felt tongue-tied and the only response Sirius received was his belt falling loose. With no more than an infinitesimal hesitation to boost Remus' encroaching insecurity Sirius said, "Oh, go on then."

Remus' hands trembled erratically; "Make this good..." he thought to himself before all sentient thought was drained from his head by the hum of Sirius' soft moan-- a moan which Remus had provoked and which encouraged his tongue further.

The act, overall, was a little awkward: Remus was passionate but unpracticed and, in some obscure corner of consciousness he was trying to gauge how long he'd be able to cope with his own level of physical excitement, with the force of his emotions. Regardless, Sirius' deep gravelly breaths grew louder, more harried... Tossing his head back against the bedpost, he let out a wordless cry and Remus sat back on his heels, look up at Sirius, whose face glistened faintly with drops of perspiration. Sirius gazed back approvingly and swiped his damp, sleek hair out of his eyes, nodding and saying sheepishly, "Hanging in there? Good."

Stooping down, he took hold of Remus and deposited him in one swift movement onto the mattress, stealing with poise-- like a cat-- up the bed and over him. He kissed him fervently but only for a split second before sliding his hands down to unfasten the length of his shirt. Arriving at the last button, Sirius pulled away momentarily, but he abruptly froze and peered down at the boy's right side, his forehead furrowing. "What? You've seen this before," thought Remus frantically, intensely self-conscious.

His scars. True, Remus sported a lot of scars (ragged, self-inflicted wounds and thin, white scratches) but the marred patch on his ribs was the worst of it and was the vestigial consequence of his original werewolf bite at five years old.

Sirius, with extreme tenderness, touched his lips to the fang marks, his fingertips gently tracing the scores in the pale flesh and Remus cringed, not liking that attention should be drawn to them.

All discomfort vanished, though, when Remus-- having been distracted-- realized that Sirius was making his gradual, searing way from Remus' blemished side downward. "Please, just..." he thought incoherently. He didn't have to wait long and his hands were soon clutching convulsively at the sheets even as Sirius' nails dug into his hips. Remus ground his teeth together, arching his back and breathing out Sirius' name in one long exhale. His world was one of unfathomable satisfaction and pleasure, a delirium of feelings.

With his eyes closed, Remus felt but did not see Sirius creep forward and settle heavily against him. He opened his eyes flutteringly and a thin shaft of weak, winter afternoon sunlight met them. His pupils protested, contracting, and Remus turned away from the window.

"I can't believe we just did that," whispered Sirius from Remus' shoulder, his words tickling his throat. He sounded blissful, discomfited and fatigued all at once; Remus, who was unfamiliar with the latter two conditions in the expressive repertoire of his friend, patted his sprawled arm shyly.

Remus shook his head. "Neither can I."

_A.N.__ That's all for now-- hope it wasn't disappointing. Part 3, I'm pretty sure, will be the last installment of this and, by then, Christmas will have passed and James, Peter, Lily, etc. will have returned, yay. Lots of interesting things to do with that. I'm not sure how long it will be in coming because I've just started another fic in addition to this one and it's demanding a lot of planning. Hopefully soon. _


	3. The Closet, Part I

_A.N. This chapter was many months in coming. I really do apologize for this—I know at least one person really wanted it much sooner. School's been hell, and this university's been depriving me of a lot more than fan-fic-writing-time, but I still should have been able to finish this long ago. Anyway, enjoy. That's a direct order. _

_ All rights, excluding plot, reserved to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic Press. _

_ Rated M for sexual references and content, language, and some potential violence. Contains slash. _

**Part 3 . The Closet, Part I**

Scotland, spared that winter from the bitter cold, slogged instead through a steady, sodden monotony of days. Remus did the same, tripping through the ankle-deep mantle of half-hearted, melting snow that covered Hogwarts' sloping grounds. There was only one thing this sort of snow was good for and a number of people aimed to take full advantage of it; Remus bent and dug a sticky handful from the dead grass, packed it hard into an icy wad, and flung it vehemently at Sirius. It caught him square on the ear, already red from exposure.

"Gah! Fuck me _blind_, that hurt!"

Remus dodged retaliation only to be struck on the shoulder by a snowball courtesy of Klaus Otterburn, a sixth year Hufflepuff and an overall good bloke with whom they sometimes spent time. His hasty vengeance missed Otterburn, however.

"Sorry, Charlotte!" he called as she brushed the remnants of his ill-aimed missile from her cloak. The tall girl, a feisty Quidditch player, grinned toothily and twitched her wand-- like a tablecloth sharply shaken, a miniature tsunami of snow from her to Remus billowed up and enveloped him as the rest tumbled into a loose pile around his knees.

"Hey, that's cheating. That _completely_ is cheating!" protested Sirius even as he imitated her and again deposited some yards of snow on Remus.

"I hate you all," said Remus genially, expelling the snow from his hair like a dog.

"Lying is such a foul habit, Remus; everyone knows you love me," countered Sirius, letting himself fall backwards comically on the lawn where he proceeded to make a messy snow-angel. Charlotte and Otterburn laughed but Remus flinched as though cuffed-- Sirius had made a custom of saying things like that in an offhanded manner in the past week or so and Remus found himself increasingly more sensitive to their careless tone. No one yet knew of the boys' encounter before Christmas (or the couple of almost equally spontaneous and bewildering incidents since then) and Remus, who all but included himself among those in the dark, was becoming progressively more uneasy about Sirius' attitude toward the issue. To their discredit, Remus thought, they'd barely talked about it.

º

"It's getting dark," said Otterburn, pulling up his hood against the crisp wind skating across the lake. "I'm going to head in-- you lot coming?"

"Mm, no. The train'll be here any minute; I'm going to wait," answered Sirius as he sat up. He and Remus waved to Charlotte and Otterburn as they trudged toward the front doors along with a couple of third years who had been running about nearby but who'd also been cowed by the January twilight.

"We can't wait in the Entrance Hall?" suggested Remus.

"We _could_, but then there wouldn't be any element of surprise at all," returned Sirius, strolling away toward a large spruce behind which he began to stockpile a small arsenal of snowballs.

"You're going to ambush Snape, aren't you." He didn't bother making it a question.

"And Prongs. This here is the 'Welcome-Home-Long-Lost-Best-Friend' snowball reserve and that there is the 'Rot-In-The-Deepest-Sewers-Of-Hell' snowball reserve. There's a difference."

"In that one sort is full of sherbet and the other with hydrochloric acid and brimstone?"

Sirius made a small clicking, McGonagall-ish noise with his tongue. "_No_. In that one sort is thrown in the spirit of fraternal goodwill and the other--"

"I can see the carriages," interrupted Remus, indeed spying a few bobbing, shivering flecks of yellow light in the distance. He squinted through the purple gloaming and rubbed his gloved hands together to encourage some circulation in his chilled fingers.

"-- really, Moony, not even _I_ would chuck acid at Snivellus more than, say, once a term," continued Sirius, heedless of the disruption. He paused and smiled to himself, as though recalling a particularly delicious memory.

As the returning students rounded the shore and approached the castle, lanterns could be seen swinging precariously from the sides of the stagecoaches and dim, ghostly faces swam in the old, rippled glass windows. To Remus' untainted eyes, they were horseless, but he trusted those who swore by the presence of thestrals and could now even see for himself the ethereal hoof-prints in the frost. The feeling this scene inspired might have amounted to sinister had it not been for the muffled laughter issuing from the carriages.

Sirius finished arming himself and stood; he fleetingly and flirtatiously traced one finger down Remus' back.

"Are we going to... er, tell them?" Remus inquired softly. "James and Peter?"

"Oh. Right. I don't know," said Sirius after a perturbing quiet. And kept his hands to himself.

Remus found this response to be irredeemably inadequate, especially when Sirius failed to elaborate, and turned to look at him-- his face, however, was artfully unreadable. Unable to think of anything to say which might encourage clarification, Remus sighed and contented himself with watching the first of the pupils disembarking.

"There you are, my pretty," murmured Sirius ominously as he crouched down more guardedly behind the spruce and scooped up a snowball-- Remus followed his friend's predatory gaze. Severus Snape was walking, head bowed, to the other side of Evan Rosier and Silas Avery.

"Come on, you wankers, give me a clear shot..." Sirius said exasperatedly before abandoning all pretense, swishing his wand and endowing the snowball with seek-and-destroy capabilities. When it left his fingertips, it sped headlong toward the trio of Slytherins, made a sharp turn around the two larger boys and slammed viciously into the back of Snape's exposed neck. Snape naturally jerked his head about to look directly behind him where his eyes fell on—oh, damn-- Peter.

From this distance, at least, the Slytherins appeared more disgusted than anything. Before either Sirius or Remus could blink, Snape moved his wand indolently and Peter was catapulted backward like a cast-off toy into a small flock of shrieking girls. Rosier flipped him an obligatory finger and the three of them moved on without, apparently, even saying a word.

On their way to rescue Peter from his puzzlement and the girls' sneers of annoyance, Sirius said, "You know, I think Snape might just be getting bored with this kind of shit lately."

"Either he thinks not caring will make us leave him alone or-- well-- he thinks he's above it," observed Remus. "I hate to think what things he's doing with his free time if not plotting to destroy us," he continued lightly and with a lopsided grin though he privately knew that it wasn't funny at all. The spidery boy they'd taunted hundreds of times had now, at seventeen, evolved into a person significantly more dangerous than most experienced adult wizards. There'd been a time when Remus had felt guilty about his friends' treatment of this outcast, but recently he didn't know what to think about Severus Snape.

"Exactly. Which is why we should distract him _more_," said Sirius. "For his own good, you know. Alright there, Wormtail?"

Peter Pettigrew, irritably righting his robes, answered, "Really great. Being thrown on my arse is just how I'd hoped to start this term."

"Yeah, sorry. The snowball was me-- didn't mean it to work like that."

"S'okay." He turned his plump, flushed face up to them and gestured over his shoulder. "James might be awhile."

"What? _No_, he's got his own snowballs waiting for him," complained Sirius.

"Please shut up about snowballs already," groaned Remus, dragging his hand over his face dramatically. "What are you, ten?"

"Yes, give or take eight years." It was true, too. Remus wondered if Sirius would ever really seem grown-up. He tried to visualize him middle-aged and found he simply couldn't.

º

The three of them reached the massive oak doors and Remus shed his wet scarf and snow-encrusted cloak with relief, basking in the warm glow of the school. Yet everything felt strange now that the building was filled again with hosts of loud people; the privacy of the holidays was rapidly dissolving into a dream, a thing which didn't seem like it could possibly have room to... _breathe_ in this environment. Remus regarded the dozens of happy faces around him, and suddenly each one of them seemed to pose a potential threat; everything that had happened while they were absent now felt somehow inappropriate if not exactly incorrect.

Platters, as yet untouched, had just appeared in steaming rows along the five heavy tables; they selected seats rather near the door. Persisting in his look of sullenness, Peter took an enormous bite of Cornish pasty. When he'd swallowed, he asked how Sirius and Remus' Christmas had gone.

"Alright," Remus murmured vaguely.

"What'd you do?"  
"Oh, this and that, you know," said Sirius, waving a hand dismissively. Remus' insides squirmed weirdly at the thought of outright telling Peter what they'd _actually_ done. He tried relegating his jittering nervousness to the back of his mind, with moderate success.

Quick to shift the spotlight off of himself and Sirius, he asked, "So, you get anything decent for Christmas, Wormtail?"  
"Yeah, I did!" chirped Peter, shaking off his former glumness. "My sister gave me a wireless! We can listen to all the pro Quidditch games live now!"

"_Excellent_. Prongs'll be right thrilled, you know," said Sirius, grinning maniacally.

"What are you _saying_?" hissed Remus, mockingly scandalized. "You know perfectly well wierelesses were banned three years ago. Being the good Head Boy that he is, James will simply _have_ to turn that in, Peter."

A second of silence before their momentarily straight faces crumpled and they fell about laughing. Peter pressed a napkin to his face, looking for a moment like he might expel pumpkin juice from his nose. James' status as a model pupil for the student body was a source of endless ironic amusement for Sirius, Peter and especially Remus, who was glad that his rank as prefect was no longer most frequently targeted for ridicule. The idea of James ever actually confiscating prohibited objects from anyone (besides the occasional Slytherin) was pretty absurd, after all.

The dregs of the recent arrivals straggled in, and Remus had just started to wonder where James had got to when he appeared in the arched entrance framed by two girls: Lorna Newbottle and—much more significantly—Lily Evans. Between them, he appeared taller than usual, and he gave off a confident air which was slightly more adult in nature than his customary adolescent egotism. Remus gaped at the sight of Lily walking amiably beside his friend and not, as was not exactly atypical, hexing or shouting at him.

Sirius let out a low whistle of surprise. "Would you look at that."

"I see it. I'm not sure what it is, but I see it," answered Remus distractedly.

Parting from James, Lily settled herself further up the table with Lorna and a small horde of other girls. With a blithe "Hi," James sank down on the bench across from them.

"What—was—_that_?" solicited Sirius immediately, dragging a sleeve through a tureen of soup to reach across and punch James in the shoulder.

"Hm?" James nonchalantly raised one dark eyebrow.

In severe—and amusing—agitation, Sirius pointed at a visible shock of red hair some way down the table.

"Oh, well, that is Lily Evans. Lily is one of those things sometimes referred to as a 'girl,' and—"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

"I most certainly do not. I can't carry on a civil conversation with a fellow student without harassment and abuse now, is that it?" He rubbed the shoulder where Sirius had hit him, and put on his best victimized face.

"Come off it, mate. Are you dating her or what?" said Peter exasperatedly.

James finally abandoned his farce of innocence. "Nah, not dating. But—I think she's beginning to, er, _see the light_, if you will. What with her being Head Girl and all, we share a train compartment and we got to talking. I think that if I'm less forward with her—"

"If you stop stalking her, you mean," interrupted Remus.

"—yes, if I stop stalking her—I bet I'll have a serious chance."

"Wow. Never thought I'd see the day. That is something that I believe deserves a toast," proposed Sirius, raising his goblet invitingly. "To James. To James and Miss Elusive," The others clinked their glasses against his and drank deeply.

º

The remainder of the dinner was spent conjuring semi-malicious Marauder plots. They were halfway through pudding and James was nearly finished explaining that Winter would mainly serve to set the stage for Spring, at which time they would launch their most prodigious pranks yet. They were epically entertaining in nature, but relieved Remus' increasing nerves only minimally. With a few last mouthfuls of cake, the four trooped out of the Great Hall and up to the seventh floor. Remus had grown more and more laconic throughout the meal, and now lagged behind his friends, thoughtful.

Winding through the congested common room, they all decided to head up to their dormitory early that night. Lily tossed a casual, demonstrative smile in their direction—something which caused James to trip up the stairs and then pretend he'd meant to do so. A few card games, a small feast of Christmas candy courtesy of Peter's mother, and a bout of Fanged Frisbee throwing (which resulted in the shredding of one of Sirius' bed's drapes) later, it was past midnight and Remus was yawning widely.

"I don't know about you lot, but I'm going to bed," he said. The frisbee collided with his stomach and tried to gnaw away at his shirt. Remus pitched it carelessly across the room where it might have made contact with James' general groin area—he yelled a lot at any rate.

Remus went round to the other side of his bed, removed his shirt and sloppily donned a pair of pajama pants. Creeping under the quilts, he wanted nothing but to sleep so that he could stop worrying about himself and Sirius, but the others continued talking and it was notably chilly in their tower that night. Some minutes later, he heard Peter suddenly exclaim in frustration, "For God's sake, has _everyone_ found a girl over the holidays but me?"

Remus rolled over, listening through the curtains.

"What _are_ you on about, Wormtail?" asked James quizzically.

"You've practically got Lily, Prongs. And then _you_, Padfoot—well, there couldn't have been more than a handful of non-Slytherin girls over fourteen in the entire castle while you were here, but you still found somebody to snog."

"What makes you say that?" inquired Sirius, ignoring Peter's last question.

"Pfft. Right _there_. Don't tell me you haven't."

Abruptly, Remus recalled the little trail of darkly dappled love-bites he'd left down one side of Sirius' neck the evening before. His eyes widened in the dimness of his shrouded four-poster, and he couldn't suppress a shiver. Sirius wouldn't reveal their secret without consulting him, would he? Then again, would that be any worse than having him just joke about it again? Remus' palms sheathed themselves in a cold film of sweat.

"Oh, that. Yes, well, you know how it is," came Sirius' voice after a quiet gap. "Anyway--" he tried to proceed.

"No. No, I don't. That was my point."

James laughed. "You shark. Who'd you charm to pieces this time? Let's see, Roma Molineux was here, wasn't she? Hah! I saw that look! It was her, wasn't it?"

"No." Sirius sounded a little put upon. Remus quietly sat up, chewing on his lip. "It doesn't matter who it was."

Sounds of a little scuffle. "Aw, I reckon you're just saying that 'cause she wasn't up to your usual standards. We won't make fun even if she's a bit of a troll, will we, Peter?"

"Absolutely not," chuckled Peter.

"Wait, that Hufflepuff Quidditch girl! What's-her-face... er, Charlotte Cresswell. You talk to her, don't you? She might not win any beauty pageants, but I've heard she's cool--"  
"I--" A tongue-tied Sirius was a rare event. Remus hesitantly pulled aside a corner of his bed's scarlet curtain.

In the inconsistent candlelight, he could see that James was hanging histrionically on Sirius' shoulder. "_Tell me_," he said, drawing out the words so it seemed that they contained several syllables each. Denying James anything usually lead to this type of exceedingly melodramatic behavior; the more you withheld, the more he demanded, even if he didn't actually give two shits about the answer. Peter was observing and popping toffees into his mouth like popcorn at the cinema.

"No," returned Sirius curtly. He pried James' fingers from his collar, and snatched a toffee from Peter.

"Damn it, Padfoot-- you're such a stubborn whore." James' shoulders slumped.

"Your _mother's_ a stubborn whore," mimicked Sirius, regaining a bit of wit.

"You love my mother and you know it."  
"Yes, James. Yes, I do." He ate the toffee before adding, "Even though she's a slag."

"Mark my words: you will tell."

"God, you're such a whiny bastard. Fine. Fine, it _was_ Charlotte. There you go."

If Remus heard the rest of the conversation, it didn't register with his brain. Slumping back against his pillow, he felt his eyes prickle with tears that he would feel beyond stupid for spilling, so he dragged the back of his hand roughly across his face, wiping them away. The back of his throat seemed to constrict and burn with whatever warped sort of anger this was.

It hadn't even occurred to him that Sirius might lie about it. Did that make Remus naïve? Regardless, he felt that it was cowardly of Sirius. _Cowardly of Sirius_. Along with James, Sirius was the least cowardly person he knew. And that only made it hurt all the more... was he, Remus, such a horrible thing to admit to being attracted to that even Sirius would take the gutless way out?

º

By 7:30 the next morning all the self-effacing thoughts of the night before sounded juvenile and unfounded. It wasn't him that had done anything to compromise the relationship—or whatever it was. It wasn't him that had refused to talk about it. It wasn't even him that had started it, really.

Remus tightened his tie, snatched up a tidy stack of textbooks and walked briskly out of the dormitory before Sirius or anyone else had even gotten past the eye-rubbing and complaining stage of the morning. He added a terse "See you in Transfiguration later."

He only choked down a piece of toast and drank a half cup of tremendously strong tea before retiring to the entirely deserted library. Transfiguration didn't begin until 9:00, so he took time to merely sit at the end of an arbitrary aisle and stare out the window. Hogwarts angled itself in such a way that, from his position, Remus could observe a sliver of the great blue window out of which Sirius and he had flown not so very long ago. He would _make_ Sirius talk about it. And if he wouldn't, or if it became clear that they really were less compatible than he'd thought, then Remus would just have to get over it. He'd learned that his attraction to men wasn't the source of his weakness, but if he allowed himself to be torn apart by something he'd frankly _expected_ might tear him apart, then he felt that he'd be weaker than ever.

9:00 arrived, and Remus was the first in the classroom save Professor McGonagall.

"Morning, Lupin," she greeted him brusquely.

"Good morning, Professor." The early daylight peeked into the lecture hall and illuminated all the little dancing eddies of dust motes in the air. Remus had always liked that effect, and it distracted him briefly.

"Mr. Lupin, are you quite alright?" asked McGonagall unexpectedly, examining him over the rim of her spectacles. "You don't look very well."

"Hm? Oh, I assure you there's nothing the matter." Remus opened his textbook, placed his wand on the desk, and rustled his notes around in an official sort of way to emphasize that he was perfectly well and ready to learn. Nothing wrong in the slightest.

McGonagall continued to eye him suspiciously so that he began to wonder whether he really did appear ill. Other N.E.W.T. level students trickled in one by one, and though Sirius took a seat directly next to him, Remus failed to greet him. A half-hour later when Sirius asked to see his notes, Remus slid them over, but continued attempting to animate his chair.

"As you will have noticed, it is fairly simple to induce basic movement in a still object, but immeasurably more challenging to grant the object with, for lack of a better term, artificial intelligence. I want those chairs moving of their own volition, not yours, by the time we're finished. I shall know if you're cheating," projected Professor McGonagall over the students' murmured complaints.

Remus only realized how truly distracted he must have been when he looked up at 10:30 from his feebly twitching chair to see most of the classes' trotting and clattering about the room like spindly wooden colts.

"Disappointing, Mr. Lupin. You're not up to your usual game today," sighed McGonagall, making her rounds. Somehow, he didn't care very much, and left the classroom behind James and Sirius. The moment James stopped in the corridor to talk to one of the Gryffindor team's Beaters about an upcoming practice, Remus grabbed hold of the back of Sirius' collar and marched him into an empty classroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

"What are you doing?" said Sirius, perplexed. He spun around and faced Remus. "You ignored me all through Transfiguration. What's up?"

Remus glowered at him. "You're going to talk to me, and you're going to be serious about it."

"You mean about..." Sirius crossed his arms and leaned back against the dusty, scarred blackboard.

"Yeah. You told James and Peter last night that it was Charlotte you snogged. And you've been refusing to discuss anything since this started. Things are not going to work like that." Remus did his best to sound secure and resolute.

"What was I supposed to tell them, eh? You know James would have made it into a bigger and bigger deal every second I didn't give him an answer. What, do you _want_ to tell them? That would be a huge thing, Remus." Sirius responded quickly and decisively, but did not look him quite in the eye.

"It's a huge thing _now_, Sirius. You can't just ignore it ninety percent of the time and then expect me to be thrilled when you happen to feel like fucking in a broom closet or whatever it is that's going to come next."

Sirius' mouth opened and closed in surprise. Remus knew he was stepping out the bounds of his normal behavior, and Sirius didn't tend to understand anything involving him being told what he could and could not do.

"Look. Maybe I just don't want to go telling James about something this... out of the ordinary... when it's not even been going on that long. Maybe—"

"Alright, but what if it goes on another month or another year. Then? And are you just going to, what, pretend as if you've randomly stopped liking girls all that time? Or do you intend to keep on as usual with that?" Remus knew he was losing his composure, slipping into accusations...

"No," answered Sirius defensively. "But all I'm saying is that people think of me a certain way—_James_ thinks of me a certain way—and if I go around flaunting—"

"You're _scared_ of people thinking you're different?" said Remus, his voice rising.

"I'm not _scared_," barked Sirius, turning a frosty eye on him and standing up straight.

"I'm just asking: do you want me or not?" growled Remus.

"I don't know, alright!" he snarled back loudly. The argument was sounding more and more clipped, more and more stupid, more and more _canine_ to Remus' ears.

"Just—"

"I REALLY LIKE YOU, OKAY?" shouted Sirius suddenly, looking alarmed with himself.  
Remus jumped. "WELL I REALLY LIKE YOU TOO."  
"FINE."  
"FINE."

In the ringing silence that followed the row, Sirius scrabbled up his books and slammed his way through the door, running over his young brother, Regulus, who happened to be passing. He looked murderously at the Fourth Year Slytherin before stalking away without a backward glance.

_A.N. I hope that was satisfactory. What is it about boys that they don't know how to talk to each other? Speaking of that, do you think they're still in character? It's still my biggest concern. _


End file.
